ASPS 3
by Precambrian Studios
Summary: In the final installment in the series, the ASPS return to Fielding, but a former member threatens to overturn their lives once again with his own splinter group: the Vipers.
1. Rise of the Vipers

**Two Weeks Before the Start of Junior Year**

His eyes scanned down the contents of the page, drinking in every detail. Occasionally, he would make note of the parts he found more interesting and important, and stored them in the back of his mind...

_November 13, 1997_

Fielding has a history of violence amongst its students...

Last August, the first month of Fielding's school year, the school entered the national lime-light again when several students were fired upon with a paintball gun...

Afterwards, Headmaster Michaelas made good on his mandate to update security...bullying only decreased by about 5%.

...fights had all but disappeared, until one day when senior Dmitri Vagin got into a fight with a blind student who has since left Fielding...

...Fielding's reputation as a unsafe school for its students re-surged...parents reported that they would sue...

...several other families announced their intentions to sue the school, causing many to question the effectiveness of the policy of Headmaster Michaelas...

He went on to the next article. He found two sentences in particular to be rather interesting

_December 4, 1997_

Fielding Headmaster Henry Michaelas has announced his intention to resign.

It is widely believed that Michaelas was in actuality ousted by the Fielding Board of Governors, in order to appease parents filing lawsuits against the school.

He thought, _More likely, it was to protect their own hides. That's interesting. They're like animals backed into a corner. Well, then they should be easy to...ah, there's one more article._

_December 14, 1997._

Erect yet smiling, gray yet cheerful, new yet strong, Carter Falwell has arrived at Fielding...

When asked what he was looking forward to the most, Falwell answered, "Getting to know the students here. From the ones I've met so far, they seem like wonderful people. I'm truthfully beginning to wonder if this whole reputation about bullying is untrue."

In his head, he reviewed what he had learned about Falwell: a renowned administrator, he had been the Headmaster of Pryor Lazenby's Latin School, an institution infamous for its students' rowdy behavior. He'd managed to quell them in his first year through expensive programs. _So is he inept? A man who solves problems by throwing money at them? Or did he successfully target whatever caused these students to behave so badly?_ He wished he knew what kinds of programs had been enacted, but that information eluded him. He went on to the next link, which lead to a school ranking website.

**March 21, 1998.**

Top 100 Private Schools in the United States

1: Trinity School  
>2: St. Sheary's Private School<br>3: Gregor Browning Academy  
>4: Spence School<br>5: Downing Classics School  
>6: Grove Hills<br>7: Roxbury Latin School  
>8: Mulberry Fields<br>9: Fielding Preparatory Academy  
>10: National Cathedral School<p>

Some of the comments on the page read, 'Holy sh*t, Fielding went from 1 to 9 in a few months? What the hell happened?'

'Grove Hills beat out Fielding? Ouch!'

'Ha! Bet they wish Michaelas was still around.'

Clicking the link sent from "Baroque-Lover-99," the young man's eyes scanned the last article he'd been sent: a report on Fielding's apparent fall from grace. Three pages long, it detailed the rise of bullying incidents after Falwell's takeover of the school, and his subsequent, _extremely_ controversial action of diverting funds from academics to on-campus security. Cameras, metal detectors, and an even larger police force than ever had quickly made Fielding the safest school in America. It had also quickly earned a new reputation for looking like a prison. Many people said that the only thing was missing was barbed wire along the fences.

"Sir? Yours hours are up," said a female attendant of the internet cafe to the young man sitting at a computer in the corner. He wore a white polo shirt, jeans, aviator sunglasses, and a baseball cap that covered his shaven head. He didn't appear to have heard her. "Sir?" she said again.

The young man jumped in his seat before turning to her. There was a scar above his right eyebrow that shot diagonally down to the left (the attendant's left) before moving upwards, until it was lost under his cap. It looked like a V. "Oh, ah, apologies," he said in a measured voice. "I didn't catch that, what did you say?"

"Your hours are up, sir. You either need to pay for another hour or leave. I know, I know," she said, holding up her hands in apology, "those are sucky terms, but I don't make the rules.

"Oh. "Sorry, I guess I just lost track of time." He turned away to close away all his tabs before turning back around to smile at her. "Thanks for the courtesy. Again sorry."

The attendant smiled warmly back. "That's all right. Must be an interesting subject." She leaned in towards his computer and peered at the screen. "Oh. Fielding. You a student?"

He turned his head slightly to the look at the computer and realized he'd missed a tab. "Going to be soon," he replied as he got rid of the page.

"Well, good for you!" the attendant said encouragingly. "Just prepared to get frisked a lot, though," she chuckled, "I hear the place has become kinda repressive. We get a lotta kids coming in here whining about how its like Alcatraz, or something like that."

"Oh, I think I'll be fine." Checking a battered watch on his left wrist, he took in a sharp breath. "Christ, maybe not; I'm late for my orientation," he said. Picking up a bright green backpack and shrugging it over his shoulders, he gave a polite smile to the attendant, said goodbye, and left quickly.

While he wasn't late for orientation, it would be starting in two hours. He wasn't looking forward to it; while Fielding orientations were always informative, they tended to be slow. While he felt that a review would be needed, there were..._arrangements_ he had to make in advance. _I guess I'll just have to be patient. No problem_. In his mind, he imagined the face of the one he had been waiting to meet: Dmitri Vagin. Scratching at the stubble on his face, he thought, _I am genuinely looking forward to meeting you._ Dmitri was the key. Dmitri would help him to change Fielding.

XXXX

Gage waited in the waiting room of the hospital, flipping through a copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace, his required summer reading for Lawndale O'Neill's advanced placement literature class.

"Frankly, I don't see the point of reading a book without pictures," his girlfriend joked from the chair next to him.

He snorted. "That's because you've never evolved from a second-grade mentality, Jane."

"I take it you never read Alice in Wonderland, smart-ass?"

"I'm a schizophrenic," he reminded her. "I didn't need to read a book to imagine talking cats when I was small."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Jane gave Gage a smug look. "Yeah, well, don't push your luck anyways, mister. Or you'll lose your model for that new dress your making."

"The gibson girl project?" He blew a lock of hair out of his eye. "Then I'll just drag Daria into it."

"You'll _have_ to drag her to make her put on that monst-"

"Hey!"

The two looked up. Wehrung, wearing a leather jacket and khakis, bandages swathing his left eye, emerged from a hallway with a happy grin on his face. "So, I can take it off now!" he exclaimed, gesturing at his concealed left eye.

"Dude! Awesome!" Gage said excitedly. He practically jumped out of his chair. "I've never seen you with two eyes before! Come on, take them off!"

"Yeah, I wanna see the worms," Jane joked.

Wehrung rolled an eye at her. "Ha ha. Okay, here it goes." He wriggled his fingers under the bandage, gripped, and pulled. There was a noticeable tearing noise as the tape tore off from his face. "Ow! Damn it!" He put a hand up to the now-exposed eye and rubbed it. "That hurt…" he groaned.

"Dude! Take your hand off and let's see!" said an eager Gage. H

Wehrung obeyed. His left eye, which had once had a flare shot into it, was now repaired courtesy of the generosity of Michael Harris. Although it had once been dark brown, almost to the point of looking black like its brother, the eye now looked much lighter, almost as if there were a film over it. There was still scarring from burns and where flesh had been crudely stapled around the eye. Half of the eyebrow was still gone. Still, it at least looked leagues better than it once had.

"Looks great, man!" Gage said, giving Wehrung a congratulatory clap on the back. "How well can you see out of it?"

"Better! Not great, but at least I can see at all," said Wehrung happily, before he reached into his pocket. "Hold on a sec guys." He withdrew his eye-patch back on. "Aah," he breathed with relief. "That feels better…...what?" He shrugged as Gage and Jane rolled their eyes at him in sync.

XXXX

"I still have no idea how you managed to drag me into this," Roan Breckenridge groaned to her ward as they walked inside Cashman's Department Store at the Mall of the Millenium. "You must have slipped something into my coffee, that's the only explanation I can think of."

"Don't be such a petit bébé de pleurnicher," Karis, wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, said to her older friend. She gestured theatrically to the massive store. "It's nice to go clothes-shopping every now and again. And you can use some new clothes." She eyed Roan's white tank top and jeans, the only kinds of clothes Roan owned that weren't the Fielding uniform.

"Do not," protested Roan.

"Do too," Karis countered.

"I try to be frugal, Karis. I mean, I have nothing particularly against clothes-shopping, it's just that I don't buy what I don't need."

"Smart," Karis admitted. "But still, I think, hm...well, I'm just wondering what we can put on you. Something that makes you look really suave."

"Look, kid, I'll make you a deal; I'll play dress-up for you if you volunteer with me at the shelter tomorrow? Fair deal?"

Karis swallowed. "The shelter? I don't know…" _There are so many people there…._

"Don't worry about it, Chap. You'll probably just help me sort clothes in the back." Roan gave her a reassuring smile. "How 'bout it?"

_Well, as long as I don't have to be around a lot of strangers….bugger._ "Okay," she agreed. She grinned deviously. "Let's find you a tutu first. I'm only joking, mate!" she laughed when Roan's face went milk-white.

XXXX

Smiling, Karis put her finger to her chin as she considered the two outfits Roan was begrudgingly holding up for her. "All right, let's recap," Karis said.

"Shoot."

"You have a very feminine face, accentuated by your pixie cut, but a bit of a masculine build. Kinda buff arms, barely any chest to speak of. Ah, no offense."

"None taken," grumbled Roan sardonically.

"So we can either go with this dress here," Karis said, holding up a matte-black, strapless dress, "which I think will fit you really well. Or…" she nodded her head to the suit. "We can go with this. And if neither of them fit, which I doubt, we can get Gage to do some adjustments. Either way, you'll look pretty sexy."

"Can't I just get a t-shirt?" Roan said in exasperation.

"Nope! Deal's a deal. Pick one."

"Eeny meeny-"

"Roan!" Karis cried in protest.

As she gave Karis an exasperated look, Roan pointed to the dress, just for the sake of getting it all other with. "Great choice!" Karis said excitedly. She picked up her own dress, a small, bright-blue one, and nodded her head toward the door, indicating for the soon-to-be Fielding senior to follow her to the checkout. Roan unceremoniously tossed the suit away and followed Karis to the counter.

Two hours later, they were back at Roan's room in Fielding, wearing the dresses. Roan admired herself in the mirror. "Gotta admit, I make this dress look pretty damn good." She twirled once, then wrinkled her nose. "Mm. This is not the twirly kind of dress. And come to think of it, I'm not the twirly kind of girl."

Giggling, Karis also looked at herself in the mirror, but wrinkled her nose. "Hm. Do I look sexy or cute?"

Roan glanced at her fleetingly. "Cute."

"Aw! How many years do I have to wait until I look sizzling?"

"Never say sizzling again. And ten years. Give or take."

"Gee, thanks." She posed in the mirror, putting one finger to her chin. She scanned herself from fiery head to sneakers, and gave herself an approving nod. "Well...maybe I can live with that."

XXXX

"So, mom. You sure?" Wehrung asked into the receiver of Gage's prized rotary phone, which sat on the desk in the dark bedroom he shared with his friend.

"I'm pretty sure, honey," she answered on the other end.

"It's just that, I have a feeling your bank account would not be happy if I moved back to Fielding."

She laughed lightly. "No, probably not. But again, Alex, it's all up to you. But as long as Mr. Harris has no problem with you staying there, neither do I."

Wehrung bit his lip as he mulled over his potential options for what seemed like the thousandth time. He didn't want to feel like he was imposing on Harris by staying any longer than he had, but it seemed as though Michael didn't mind. And he did like living at Harris Studios, and Fielding was only a short walk away. _Huh. This decision is...easy. That's new._ "I think I'll stay here."

"All right, hon. Not going to tell you not to. So anyways, what's going on witchoo?"

Wehrung talked with his mother for another sixteen minutes. When the conversation ended, he put the receiver down and walked out of the bedroom he and Gage shared, before making his way into the small kitchen, which was located on the other side of the wall with the stairs. Gage and Michael sat at the studio's small picnic table, slurping at soup. Michael looked up at Wehrung with squinting eyes. "So, my boy. What's your final decision?"

Wehrung meekly averted his eyes (he had taken off his eye-patch), and drew circles on the tiling with one foot. "Um...if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

"Did I ever object?" Michael said kindly. He stood and walked up to Wehrung, putting one hand on his shoulder and causing the former ASP to look up at him. "You're always welcome here, Alexander. I'm happy to help take care of you, and I know Gage really appreciates having you here. Right, Gage?"

"Hear hear," said Gage, lifting his plastic cup of water into the air.

Michael chuckled. "You see? Now come, have some soup. Gage made it."

"Uh oh," Wehrung said jokingly. He laughed at Gage's slightly hurt expression before sitting down at the table to eat.

"So," Michael said, "You got the dual enrollment essay done?" Wehrung nodded between slurps. "And did you remember to call Michaelas and tell him you're dropping out?" he said to Gage.

"He's not Headmaster anymore, gramps. Carter Falwell is."

"Ah, yes. That's right. Anyhow, did-"

"Yeah, last week. As of tomorrow, I'll no longer be enrolled at Fielding." He went back to his soup. After a few moments, he noticed that the kitchen was silent. He looked up from his bowl and saw that both his adoptive grandfather and friend were staring at him. And he knew why. Rolling his eyes, Gage said, "And I'm absolutely sure about it, this time."

They both gave him a thumbs up before all three of them went back to their soups. After a little while, Wehrung said, "Hey, Gage?"

He looked up. "Yo."

For a moment, Wehrung considered asking him to change his mind. He didn't want to go back to Fielding without his best friend. It could be a scary place to go through alone, and he had to admit he needed emotional support every now and then. And hearing how Fielding transformed from a bully-infested school to a cop-infested one didn't make him feel any safer or braver.

But he saw how much Gage was enjoying the Lawndale life, and he didn't want to take that away from him. _There are more people on this planet than you, remember. _His mother's advice played back in his head in his own voice.

"Wehrung?" said Gage. "What?"

He snapped out of it. "Oh. Sorry. Forgot what I was going to say for a moment." Putting a smile that stretched from ear to ear, he raised his cup again. "Just wanted to say, have a ball."

Gage gratefully returned the gesture. "You too. Knock 'em dead at Fielding."

"I'll try," Wehrung chuckled. The two took long sips.

XXXX

After changing out of their dresses and into more comfortable clothing, Karis and Roan went out for ice cream at Benny's Parlor, a retro diner in uptown Baltimore. Roan drove them both up in her family's beaten sedan. "I've always wanted to have a cone there," she said on the drive up. "My parents raved about it back in the day. My current parents."

Once they got there, Roan had an orange ice cream cone, while Karis had a cup of French vanilla. They sat in the corner of the restaurant, admiring the variety of signed posters that hung, framed on the walls, ranging from Elvis to Nirvana. Then they talked for a while, about classes and homework that they would both have to take. "Are you excited about going to university?" Karis asked later on.

Roan nodded. "I hope that I can go to either Case Western University or Berkeley for Computer Engineering. Writing software, and the like. I want to create practical technologies. Cool ones too. Like those watches you see where people talk into them as if they're phones."

Karis nearly choked on her ice cream laughing. "They'll look like they're trying to eat their own wrists!" She laughed harder when Roan scrunched her face and stuck her tongue at her. Suddenly though, Karis stopped laughing and her face turned red.

"You all right there, ol' Chap?" Roan asked in an accent that came across as more Australian than English.

"Mmp," uttered Karis.

"Brain freeze?"

"Mmp."

"Karis, seriously, you okay?"

"Mmp." She lightly nodded her head to tell Roan to look behind her, which she did. Standing in line for the register was a boy with short, light brown hair that tickled his eyebrows, wearing a beat-up pilot's jacket. Roan's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Well, how about that. Looks like Armand has the same taste in ice cream as I do." She looked back at Karis, whose face had become as red as her hair. Resisting the urge to laugh, Roan said with a slight smirk on her face, "Ya know, this is like fate or something. Your crush going to the same ice cream parlor as you? One in a thousand, kid. Might as well go and propose to him before he gets away."

"Shut up," said Karis in a hushed tone, as if she were afraid Armand would hear her. When his head threatened to turn in her direction, Karis ducked her own head under the table.

"Usually, you have to drink alcohol to do that, but I guess ice cream will do in this case." When Karis made no reply to the joke, Roan said, "Um, this is a bit much, don't you think? Making eye contact with him isn't going to make you burst into flames."

"Easy for you to say," Karis said from under the table. "You don't know what this is like."

"Having a crush or ducking under a table like you're hiding from the police?"

"The crush, Roan!" said Karis sharply. Roan had admitted to never having felt attracted to any other person her whole life, and it had taken her until the age of sixteen for that fact to stop bothering her, although she sometimes feel a twinge of sadness over the matter.

Roan looked back, and saw that Armand had taken his ice cream with him outside. She turned back, and a wicked idea suddenly came to her. Fighting the urge to laugh, she said loudly and cheerfully, "Hi, Armand!"

BANG! "Ow!" Karis quickly emerged from under the table, her sunglasses slightly askew, rubbing her head. Her were eyes wide with panic. Roan laughed uproariously. When Karis noticed that Armand was nowhere in sight, she grumbled, "Oh, shut up."

"I'm sorry," breathed Roan, who had to bite her fist to stop laughing. "I'm sorry, but that was just too funny."

"Was not," pouted Karis.

Roan gave an intentionally dramatic sigh. "Look, kid, why don't you just talk to him or something? Or actually ask him out? The worst thing he can possibly say to you is no, you know."

"No. The worst thing he can possibly say is that he's already taken and wouldn't go out with me anyway if he weren't."

"From what you've told me, that doesn't sound like him." Karis had gushed to Roan twice about the handsome Armand Chevalier, a French student with a gift for writing, as he had shown many times over in Fielding's prestigious Creative Writing class. Roan had said, "A cute French poet, eh? Get him before he's gone, kid."

Squirming in her seat, Karis said, "I don't know. The only time I've ever talked to him was when I wanted to borrow a pencil from him."

"Don't you have at least three spare pencils in your backpack?" asked Roan. She grinned when Karis nodded meekly. "Well, thinking about it, the worst thing he can actually tell you is that he's gay."

"Bloody hell, don't even joke about that!" She craned her neck to look forlornly at the restaurant's door. "Should I talk to him?" The question was more for herself than it was for Roan.

"Why not? It won't kill you."

For a moment, that piece of advice was enough to get Karis to seriously consider asking out Armand. She had barely risen out of the booth before sitting firmly back in place. "Maybe another time."

Roan shrugged, disappointed. She'd been hoping to see Karis gain a little more backbone over the past year, but it appeared that it wasn't meant to be. Not yet, at least. "Whatever you want, Karis."

"What I'd like is to change the subject, if you don't mind."

"Sure. Whatcha want to talk about?"

"Well….I had an idea about starting a new band."

Roan leaned forward, interested. "Really? What kind of band?"

"Not sure, yet. The question would be, first of all, who would join? I'd be singing in it, because, well, my voice is the only instrument I can use. Would you join? You're an excellent violinist."

"Damn straight! And of course, I'd be happy to join."

Karis made a victorious fist-pump. "Excellent! And if I asked nicely, I bet Wehrung and Gage would join too."  
>"So we would have a singer, a violinist, a flutists, and pianist slash percussionist. Kid, better start coming up with folk songs."<p>

"Uh…" Karis grimaced. "I don't listen to those."

"Well, what did you have in mind for a band then?"

"I told you. It all depended on who wants to join."

"If that's all you're gunning for, then folk is probably what you want to gun for," Roan said. "So anticipate doing a lot of wailing."

"Lovely," grumbled Karis, before deciding that it was best not to get worried about such matters yet. "Oh well." She shrugged. With a smile, she raised her sloshy cup of ice cream into the air. "Here's to my first year of high school, and your last, anyhow."

Roan raised her nub of a cone in response. "Hear hear." She swallowed it whole as Karis raised the cup to her mouth, and slurped the melted ice cream, leaving her with a melted ice cream mustache, which Roan giggled at.

XXXX

"I'm truthfully not sure about the look," said the voice that emanated from Gage's telephone. It was on speaker; both Gage and Wehrung listened in. "I can't tell if I like it yet. My mom says she likes it, but moms are supposed to say that."

"You'll fit right in with us," Gage said, even though he also found it hard to imagine Michelle Smith with black hair.

"We can form a new group, call ourselves the blackheads," Wehrung chuckled. The slightly repulsed look on Gage's face made him laugh harder. "Although," he continued, "Karis might feel a bit left out."

"Yeah," Michelle said forlornly.

The two boys exchanged looks. They knew that Karis and Michelle's relationship had become icy once she had left Fielding for the year. Hopefully, it would be easy to mend. "Look, Michelle," Wehrung said. "I'm not sure if you're worried about Karis or not, but she'll be fine with you, trust me. And if not, we'll dress you up in the Tricolour."

She laughed. "You'll have to kill me first."

"How's the eye holding up?" he asked. Wehrung had been both pleased (and somewhat nervous) to learn that Michelle had recently started wearing the artificial 'eye' he designed for her on a near-constant basis when she managed to find a rechargeable battery compatible with its hardware. She was hoping that she could go back to Fielding as a seeing student.

"It's all good," she said. He breathed a sigh of relief. "But I feel kinda bad. I have this awesome thing, and other blind people are still blind. It's almost not fair."

Neither Wehrung nor Gage really knew how to respond to that. Wehrung thought of making a snarky remark, but restrained himself. "I guess," he said indifferently.

Over the line, Michelle's tone brightened. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a downer. You as excited as I am, Wehrung?"

"I'm not jumping over the moon or anything, but yeah, I'm glad to be going back. It's also good to know that Roan's willing to protect both of us from what remains of the Mafia, so no having to worry about having my beautiful face turned into mush."

"Beautiful, huh?" snickered Gage.

"Shut up. So Michelle, got your schedule yet?"

"Yeah. What you got?"

The two relayed what classes they had gotten to each other, and excitedly learned that the had both history and math together. "Thank god," Wehrung breathed. "I suck at math. Now I can copy off you!" he joked.

"I'll intentionally flub all of my answers so you'll flunk out," she replied.

"Aw. You meanie!"

"You're such a little kid," she laughed. "Well, I'm looking forward to seeing you both again, it's been too long."

"Looking forward to seeing you too, Michelle," Gage said. "And I don't know about you guys, but I'm really looking forward to having my first full year of high school without any pranks, flour bombs, beatings, et-cetera."

"Ditto," said Wehrung and Michelle in tandem. "With Fielding under marshall law, I don't think we'll have any excitement anymore," Wehrung said.

"Don't jinx it," Michelle laughed. "Well, I'm gonna get back to packing my stuff. See you two in a week on a move-in day! Bye!"

"Bye!" replied Gage.

"Auf wiedersehen!" chirped Wehrung as the electronic beep indicated that Michelle had hung up.

XXXX

In her room in Bangor, Maine, Michelle Smith looked at herself in the mirror on her wall. The 'eye' she wore on the right side of her head hummed as she thought to herself, _A new year. A nice, quiet year. Studying, SAT-taking, maybe finding a boyfriend. Changes._ She tugged on her black locks. _More time to have fun with friends._ She thought of Karis, and Roan. Roan, her replacement. _No, no._ She swallowed nervously. _You can't replace friends,_ she hoped.

_Right?_

XXXX

"Afternoon, ladies," said the FCPO (Fielding Campus Police Officer) to Roan and Karis as they approached him. He brandished a scanning wand. "Stick out your arms and legs, please."

They complied. "This ain't making me feel much safer, you know," Roan said as the wand glided over her right arm.

"Sorry you feel that way," said the officer absent-mindedly. When he finished scanning them both, he nodded at them to pass.

"God forbid I bring in a new pen," muttered Roan. "I still can't believe that they're legally allowed to do that to us."

"Whatever makes the parents happy, and prevents the school from getting sued. Again," replied Karis.

"I don't know about you, but this year, I intend to fight this bull, however I can."

"Muckraking?" Karis suggested. Roan had just joined the Fielding Boarder as a writer. "Peaceful protest? Self-immolation?"

"That's dark, kid."

"Sorry. Maybe you could run for Student Council President? You're a senior, you're smart, and you're pretty! That gives you a fighting chance."

Roan, flattered, smiled at her friend kindly. "Thanks, Karis. But I'm not all that popular, so I doubt it. Not a bad idea, though. I'll tell you when I've decided how I'm going to topple Foul Falwell."

As they made their way through the quadrangle back toward Blair, they caught sight of a group of approximately twenty strangers being led around by Roan's classmate and former Mafia associate, Julian Townes. He gestured to the surrounding buildings.

"Ah. Must be an orientation tour," Roan concluded. "Those things take forever."

"Mm," Karis hummed. She peered at the new arrivals; ranging from the tiniest sixth-grader to the largest senior, there was an interesting variety: a twitching blonde girl, a boy who looked like he would make a fine lax bro loudly shouting questions to Julian, a young man with an ugly red scar that ran alongside the right side of his bald head, three completely identical Japanese girls distinguished by their different pairs of glasses, and to Karis's surprise, a female albino. Like her, she was wearing sunglasses. "Look like an interesting bunch."

"Yip."

Once they reached Blair, Karis and Roan hugged each other. After thanking Roan for ice cream, Karis made her way inside, maneuvered by Zara Wehrung's water-gun-wielding sentries, and made her way back to her room, where she flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. _School starts again soon,_ she thought. _Hope being a high-schooler will be less eventful than being a middle-schooler. It should be, though_. The Mafia were gone. The ASPS had been disbanded as a group. And even though Fielding was now half-prison, Karis had to admit, she actually felt safe for once. _It will be. It will be._

XXXX

"Thank you everyone," Julian said pleasantly as his tour concluded. "You're all going to have a great time, here. Fielding is one of the best schools in the country, and your experience will definitely reflect that. I'll see you in class! Fielding, Fielding, rah-rah-ree!"

Nobody repeated the chant, to his mild mortification. It was to be expected, though; incoming students had yet to accumulate their own sense of spirit. As the group began to break up, Julian prepared to head back to his fellow FTC members, when one student approached him. "Excuse me, Townes?" It was the young man with the sunglasses and the scar. Smiling, he extended his hand, which Julian shook. "That was a good tour."

"Why, thank you! It's not often I get a compliment."

"I can imagine. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"And what would that be?"

The scarred teenager reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Julian. "Would you mind reading that, please?"

"Um...all right?" Both curious and mildly concerned, Julian unfolded the binder paper and read it. Written in dark, immaculate cursive, was, _I know you were part of the Mafia. You will do as I say or I will rat your sorry behind out to Falwell._ Feeling his hands tremble from both a stabbing sense of fear and anger, Julian looked up at the scarred boy, who maintained his pleasant smile, which Julian realized was sarcastic. "What do you want?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, the scarred boy said, "It's rather quite simple. I want to meet Dmitri Vagin. And soon, if you dont mind."

XXXX

"Look, Ben, I know that things have rough between us, but I don't suppose we can-"

"It has nothing to do with _us_, Dmitri, whatever the hell that means," said the voice from the other end of the phone line. "It has to do with the fact that you're still a laughingstock with all the Mafia off-shoots. You got your ass kicked by a blind girl, and you couldn't even beat that girl using that nasty cane of hers. Nobody will take The Black Hand seriously if you're in it. Sorry, but no. Goodbye."

"Ben-" the line went dead. Dmitri cursed and violently threw his phone across the room. "Screw you then!"

Ever since Dmitri had very publicly lost to Michelle Smith in their fight, he had instantly become a pariah. He went from a feared and respected leader of a feared and respected secret society to a joke. Absolutely none of the Mafia splinter groups accepted him, choosing instead to treat him as if he was the lowest common denominator in the social order. In a vain attempt to try and regain his social-standing amongst his peers, he had picked a fight with Henry Collins, one of Fielding's most notorious homophobes, and won. To his shock, it had little to no effect. He later learned that Henry had just been expelled and was in the process of moving out when he beat him up.

As he tried to formulate more plans on how he could be re-accepted by his old friend, Dmitri heard a knock at his door. "Hello?" he said. "Who is it?"

"Dmitri? It's Julian. Can I come in?"

"Oh, hey Jules. Sure, give me a moment. He jumped out of his chair, unlocked the door, and before he knew it, he had been grabbed. "What the hell, man?" he exclaimed. Before he could resist, whomever had grabbed him did it first and slammed him against a brick wall roughly. The back of his head hit the wall hard, and he felt his vision blur. His attacker held his shoulders in an iron grip.

"...gonna...kill you…" Then he saw who it was. "Jules? Why-"

His friend's expression was apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dmitri. I-"

"He works for me now, and soon, so will many of your old lackeys," said an icy voice that came from a tall young man standing behind Julian. "I decided I needed a henchman. I was never good at physical intimidation, and considering my own physical well-being...well, let's just say that I won't be doing push-ups any time soon."

As his vision began to blacken, Dmitri felt a slap across his face. The scarred teen was now mere inches away from him. "You're not going to pass out on me, Vagin," said the cold voice. "There are so many things you and I need to talk about. And we will start with what you did to the ASPS."

For a moment, his vision began to clear, and Dmitri got a better look at him. He easily towered over Julian, his face was unshaven and his skin pale. The red scar seemed to throb angrily. "Whoever you are," Dmitri said, slurring his words, "I'm not talking to _you._"

"Oh, you will, Mafia boy. But perhaps not willingly. I'll personally make sure of that," said his attacker. His lips contorted into a vampiric smile.

Then Dmitri finally passed out.

XXXX

"Wake up, Vagin." He slapped the bound Dmitri across the face, causing the former Mafioso to awake with a start, groaning from his pained skull. Looking around, he saw that he was in a cold, damp room; one of Fielding's many abandoned storage basements. "Don't worry," said the scarred young man. "You don't have a concussion. Good thing too, because I would like you to have a clear head."

"Who the hell are you, and why do you have me tied up, you goddamn bastard?" Dmitri snarled, struggling at the ropes that bound him to the chair. When he noticed that Julian was in the room, he spat at him. "You son of a bitch. You taking orders from this pasty-faced dreck? You're a little bitch too." As he spat out the insult, his fingers worked behind him, trying to undo the knots that bound him.

The skin under Julian's eye twitched. "These last few months haven't been good to you, man."

"You!" interjected the scarred teen, pointing a finger at Julian. "Don't talk, please. I want to have a one-on-one with our prisoner." He turned back to Dmitri, arms crossed over his chest, giving him a look one might give a cockroach. "We've never met, but I know who you are. You're Dmitri Borya Vagin. Former leader of the Mafia, a position you held for two years. Now the laughingstock of Fielding's gay community." He stared off into space, as if reconsidering. "Actually," he said, "the community in general."

"Am I supposed to be impressed by that, or something? Look, ass-wipe, just so you know, once I get out of these ropes, consequences be damned, I'm going to beat you to a pulp."

The scarred teen gave him a vacant stare. "I took you for a calculating leader, Vagin. Not an idiot. This is disappointing." He glanced at Julian. "Isn't he disappointing? Oh, right, I told you not to talk. Never mind."

"You're a wacko," Dmitri said. At this point, he had given up trying to untie himself; the knots were resilient.

Running a hand over his bald head, the teen said, "Perhaps. But enough with the insults, I don't have all day. You and I have personal business to address."

Squinting at his captor, Dmitri asked, "Do I know you, ass-wipe?" He was sure he would have remembered someone with such a flashy scar.

"No," said the scarred boy, "but you know my friends. The ASPS." He took off his aviator glasses, tucking them in the front of his shirt. In the darkness of the room, the yellow eyes glowed spitefully. "And I am here to take up revenge upon you on their behalf."

Dmitri's heart skipped a beat as he realized who he was talking to. "No," he said in disbelief. "No. Nonono. No way. You got hit by a car, you're a vegetable, the Boarder reported on it-"

"I _was _in a car accident," Ethan Dressler said as he rubbed at the angry red V painted onto the right side of his forehead. "And I _was_ in a rather deep coma, but I was never a vegetable. After I woke up, I made contact with my...contact. My Mafia contact." When Dmitri's eyes widened momentarily, Ethan gave him a wide, knowing grin. "Yes, Vagin. Your ranks were not as impenetrable as you thought. Anyhow, they told me what you did to my friends. Smith and Wehrung had to leave because of you. You tortured Wehrung, beat Smith, bullied Chapman." Ethan crouched. His face was mere inches away from Dmitri. "Now," he said quietly, "I must say I'm tempted to return the favor."

Dmitri spat into his face. For a moment, Ethan's face contorted with rage, and he raised his hand to strike Dmitri across the face, until he he managed to control his temper at the last second. He put on a fake smile. "I'll forgive you for that, Vagin. But if you do anything else to annoy me, I wont be so forgiving." His tone became business-like. "Now, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Townes. I know you are part of the Mafia, and I have actual proof." That was a lie; he had no proof, but it was better to make him believe he did. "So you will do exactly as I say, or else I turn you into Falwell. And believe me, Mafia boy, I would happily do so as recompense for what you did. So, I need you to do something for me. Townes?"

The large senior begrudgingly approached with a clipboard and pen, which he handed to Ethan. The towering soon-to-be junior said, "I want the names of every single former Mafia member."

When Dmitri just snarled at him, Ethan said impatiently, "I don't have all day."

"Why don't you ask Julian, genius?" snapped Dmitri.

"I'm not stupid, Vagin. I know that Mafia members are deliberately prevented from knowing the identities of all other members, lest one of them rats them out. My contact told me so. As their former leader, I know you would have all the names. Now cough them up."

Dmitri tried to spit in Ethan's face again, but his target was too high. "I'll give you one last chance, Dmitri," Ethan said in a deadly voice. "Otherwise I will torture you using what you fear the most. And believe me, I know what it is. It's in there." He pointed to the corner of the room, where a box no larger than apple sat. "This is your last chance."

His captive remained silent. Ethan sighed and said, "Suit yourself." He walked into the corner of the room, where the large box sat. Slowly, methodically, he opened it and reached his hand inside it, gingerly lifting out its contents.

Dmitri screamed.

XXXX

When it was over, and Dmitri was left a shuddering husk, Ethan signaled for Julian to follow him outside. Ethan shielded his eyes against the blinding sunlight.

"Tarantulas," Julian said, impressed, although he kept his expression neutral. "How'd you know?"

"I didn't," Ethan grumbled. "It was a _very_ lucky guess. Most people have some degree of fear for spiders. I myself cannot stand the sight of a daddy-long-legs." He looked at the list of names in his hand with a blank face. "Well, that's step one down. Now I just need to find out where all of these splinter groups meet. There's five of them, so chances are I'll be able to find at least one without a problem."

"And what exactly do you plan to do when you meet them? Or am I not allowed to ask questions?" said Julian icily. Deep down, he hoped that Ethan would be pummeled as soon as he showed up at one of these secret meetings, but he had been comatose when the ASPS had struck out against the Mafia. They would be suspicious, but not openly hostile.

Ethan gave him a passing glance before looking back at the names. "I expect we'll be in each others' company for a while, Julian. Yes, you may ask questions. And when I meet your friends, I plan to bring them into a new group I'm forming."

"What for?"

Ethan looked at his watch. "_That_, I'll tell you later." He put his aviators back on. "I'll call you when I need you again. In the meantime, do me a favor and go untie Vagin before he wets himself. And while you're at it, tell him I'm not done with him." With that said, he stalked off, reviewing his goals in his head.

_First of all, I have to move into my new dormitory. Hopefully, Falwell will be as incompetent as I've heard, and I can coerce him into getting my room in Warville back. After that, I will form the Vipers. We will get rid of Falwell, and any other administrator who does not hold up to par. And then, hopefully, I can get some peace. _

As he made his way to Fielding's main office, he maneuvered around the crowds of students moving into their dorms, running to greet friends, trying to keep up with orientational tours. Most students wouldn't come anywhere near him; his height and scar were more than enough to give him a wide berth of space. He wouldn't have cared, until a red-headed girl much smaller than him, also wearing sunglasses, took one look at him and ducked behind a taller girl with platinum-blonde hair and diamond-shaped earrings Ethan did not recognize. But he recognized the red-headed girl.

For a moment, he was tempted to call out to her, tell her who he was, ask her how she had been. But a fear suddenly took hold of him. After all this time, what would she say to him? He had barely known her in the first place. Would she even be glad to see him?

Karis was already gone before he had stopped his panicked pondering. Ethan swallowed before continuing on, while wondering if he could even face Michelle, Wehrung, or Gage at this point either. He did not know.

XXXX

"The Black Hand, seven members, all low-level Mafia," Ethan recounted to Dmitri, who sat uneasily on a stool in front of him in the cold basement. The former leader of the Mafia had been ordered personally by Julian to appear before Ethan; otherwise, he'd have spiders unleashed into his room at a random time. The thought of huge, hairy tarantulas in his bed was enough to make Dmitri tremble.

Ethan continued, "They meet on weekends in the Ransom lounge, which tells me they are not operating at a particularly high level; otherwise they wouldn't be out in the open like that. Here's the list of names." He handed a clipboard to Dmitri, who took it begrudgingly. "Anything I ought to know about them?"

Dmitri scanned the list quickly. "I'd guess that Greg Hamill is the leader. He always was a good team player. Organized."

"Anything else?"

"No. Like you said, low-ranking. Apart from Greg, they were pretty much honorary members under our protection. If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time with them."

"You're not me," Ethan said haughtily, "and the day I take advice from you is the day I jump off a cliff."

Dmitri leaned forward. He had a confident sneer on his face that irritated Ethan. "You act like you're superior to me, Dressler. Hate to break it to you, but you're not. You're just as equal an ass as I am-"

He stopped talking when the spit flew into his eye. Ethan said with a snarl, "You almost killed Michelle Smith. I've never actually tried to murder anyone, you filth."

Wiping the spit out of his eye with his sleeve, Dmitri countered, "First of all, that was a stupid mistake on my part; I'm man enough to admit to that. I was just trying to scare Michelle, believe me. And second of all, heh, look who's talking! You kidnapped Sue Bentley and held her hostage with a fake gun."

The skin below Ethan's eye twitched. Dmitri felt a small stab of triumph. "Yeah, jackass. You're not the only one with spies. I know what you've done, too. Enough to put you in juvenile hall for quite a while. Extortion. Blackmail. False imprisonment. Assault. And believe me, when this is all over, I will make sure you get the book thrown at you. And I'll be there to watch your sorry ass get dragged off, and see you crying like the little bitch you are." Dmitri leaned back, a victorious smile on his face. He had been waiting to say this for a while, and now he even had an audience for it: Julian had been standing in the corner of the basement the whole time, watching. And if Dmitri knew one thing, it was that Ethan hated to be humiliated.

He was right. Too right. Ethan slowly turned to Julian with a blank expression on his face; it was an indecipherable mask. "Townes, do me a favor. Break his index finger."

Their faces paled. "What?" Dmitri and Julian said in hushed tones at the same time.

"Are you deaf? Break his finger. Now. Or else Falwell will be hearing of your actions as a member of the Mafia, Townes."

Julian's hands tightened into fists; he was beyond furious. He either had to hurt his friend, or possibly face expulsion after being ratted out. Slowly, he looked back and forth from Ethan's stoic face, to Dmitri's, which had a rapidly-growing concerned look on it. Julian made a choice. He slowly shuffled towards Dmitri.

"No, no!" Dmitri cried. He stood and backed away into the corner. "Come on, Jules! Don't do this! We've known each other for too long! You can't choose this little piece of crap over me! Jules! JULES!"

"I'm sorry." He reached for Dmitri's hand.

Laughter.

Hollow and thin, it cut through the air like a dull knife. Julian and Dmitri both looked at Ethan as he howled with what seemed to be a combination of maniacal laughter and the coughs of someone with bronchitis. As suddenly as he had started cackling, he stopped. "Forgive me," Ethan said. "I just became aware of our similarities, Vagin. We have both been out of power now, and we have both tried to regain power at some point, I assume. We have both done things we are not particularly proud of, and we both have the conviction to see our goals through to the end. We are very much alike. I hate that. The irony of it just seemed amusing.

"But just to determine whether or not we _are_ as alike as I think, I ask you this, Vagin: would you have _my_ fingers broken?"

Dmitri's eyes anxiously darted back and forth between Ethan and Julian. Ethan rolled his eyes. "You can back off now, Townes."

Julian obeyed, casting a dirty glance in Ethan's direction as he did so. "Well, Vagin?" I'm wait-"

"Yes." The answer had come out as somewhat hesitant, but Dmitri had no doubt in his mind. "You're damn right I would," he said in a slightly tremulous voice. "Every single one of them. And your toes."

Ethan shrugged. "Then I don't see any particular reason for you to be all that upset. This is what happens to someone who has lost the power struggle: they get scared with large spiders and cower in corners. You've been in a leadership position; I thought you would know that by now. Perhaps not.

"I will give you credit, Vagin. You had ambition. You might even have some talent. But you lack planning and organizational skills. That is your fatal flaw."

Dmitri crossed his arms over his chest while giving a steely glare. "Really? I think I did pretty well for myself."

"Really?" Ethan let out another empty laugh. "If that's true, how come we have Carter Falwell instead of Henry Michaelas? How did you let the ASPS beat you? Why aren't _you_ sitting in this chair?"

Dmitri was silent. "Exactly, Vagin," Ethan continued. "You screwed up, and look at you now. Look at _me_. I came back from a hospital in California after being hit by a car, several months behind on my education, not having had any contact with Fielding since I left, and here. I. Am. _My_ organizational skills are better than yours. I plan ahead. I plan for setbacks.

"And let me educate you on something. This is not about breaking fingers. It is about being in the _position_ to break fingers. I _can_, but in the end, what's the point? I'd be conceding that you have the upper hand over me; you'd be able to manipulate me emotionally. And you'd be walking around the school with a cast on your hand that would be a little trouble to explain.

"Anyhow, I can see multiple possibilities ahead of me, and you can't. I'd love to explain to you what I have planned, Vagin, just to see the look of slack-jawed awe on your face. But that would be a colossally bad idea, so I'll keep you in the dark. I might reconsider if your level of importance ever becomes relevant again."

The former leader of the Mafia was at a loss for words; he'd been insulted, humiliated. He was in the grip of some straight, spoiled brat. He felt angry and powerless.

Ethan extended his hand. "My clipboard, please."

Dmitri looked down at his hand, and saw that he was still holding it. Slowly, begrudgingly, he brought it to Ethan. Once he took it, Ethan smiled in his vampire-like way, as if he had accomplished some great feat. "Thank you, Vagin." He looked to Julian, and nodded his head toward the door. They walked out, leaving Dmitri in the cold basement that had once served as the Mafia's headquarters.

"You know," Julian said once they were a considerable distance away from the basement, "I thought you were really going to have me break his fingers-"

"I need you to do me a favor, Townes," Ethan cut him off. "Tomorrow, I want you to go and gauge these three people. Just give me your general impressions of them." He handed Julian a small slip of paper. "I want to see if they are good candidates for leadership positions within the Vipers."

Julian read the list. _Dominic Ackermann, Quentin Palladino….Roan Breckenridge?_ His heart skipped a beat. _Wait, does he know that Roan was in the Mafia? _He found himself asking, "Why these people?"

"I've encountered them before. My general impression was that they wanted to make change. And that's what the Vipers will do. I just want to get a second opinion before official recruitment. Oh, and I considered Hemming at one point, but she was a little too madcap for my tastes."

Julian tried to read Ethan, but he was as blank as ever. "All right," he said quickly. "I can do it."

Ethan looked down at Julian with an arched eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah, it's no problem." _But I have to make sure Roan doesn't become a Viper..._

Ethan shrugged. "All right. Time to get to the last order of business, then. Let's pay the Black Hand a visit."

XXXX

Once they had reached the Ransom building, Ethan turned to his conscripted bodyguard. "I'll need you to stay outside, Townes. I must talk to them alone."

Julian sighed tiredly. "Why?"

"If this turns out how I think it will, then I'll let you know."

"Why can't you just tell me now?" asked Julian impatiently.

"Because time is of the essence."

Julian glanced at his watch. "It's two in the afternoon. On a _Saturday._"

"Fair point. I still won't tell you. Feel free to sit on that lovely-looking bench over there." Ethan quickly disappeared inside the dorm, leaving Julian alone and mildly frustrated.

Knowing precisely where to go, Ethan took a left at the front desk, walking down a long hallway, before stopping at the fifth door. He tried the knob, which didn't budge. He gave five impatient knocks. A long-haired Asian boy slightly opened the door and looked Ethan up and down. "Who're you?"

"I'm the Vampire of Fielding. Got any sugar?" Ethan said dryly. He felt a little disappointed that he was not immediately recognized, considering that he was wearing his signature suit.

The boy disappeared, and in his place stood Cheten Aziz, one of Ethan's former classmates. "Well, holy crap," said Chetan. "What the hell are you doing here, Dressler? Last I heard you were being fed with tubes."

"I can imagine, Aziz. Dmitri Vagin directed me here. I wish to talk to the Black Hand."

Surprise briefly registered on Chetan's face, before he said brusquely, "The Black Hand has no further business with Dmitri Vagin." He tried to shut the door, but Ethan had jammed his foot in front of it.

"I am not here on Vagin's behalf. I am here to make your organization an offer. And I wish to specifically speak to Greg Hamill, if he's in."

Cheten looked behind himself, then back to Ethan. "Hold on a sec." He shut the door. Ethan impatiently tapped his foot as he waited, counting the seconds in his head. After preciseley two minutes and forty-nine seconds, Chetan reappeared. "Okay, he'll see you. But you have to agree to a pat-down."

Ethan very nearly laughed out loud. "A pat-down? You honestly don't think you're _that_ important, do you?"

"Pat-down or a punch in the mouth, Ethan. Pick one."

"Tch. Fine. Pat-down. May I come in now?"

Chetan allowed him in. Immediately, Greg Hamill, a tall senior with hair tied into a ponytail walked up to him. "Arms and legs out, Ethan."

He obeyed. Greg skimmed his hands along Ethan's limbs and torso swiftly. Within a few moments, he was satisfied that the towering junior had nothing to physically threaten them with and stepped back, collapsing into a couch. Seven pairs of eyes were now on Ethan. "All right then," said Greg. "Get it over with."

"All right then, I'll get straight to the point. I am here to make your organization an offer, Greg," Ethan said flatly. "I am forming a new organization. You will be a part of it, and will follow _my_orders. The ultimate goal of my organization is to torment the Tops as much as humanly possible. And I believe that, overall, we will work to shape Fielding into a better place doing so."

"And why exactly would we work under _you_?" said a boy with a very effeminate hair-style. "I mean, hey, we hate the Tops as much as anyone else, but still."

Ethan shrugged. "Because I'm smarter, richer, and have a more defined goal than Dmitri Vagin ever did, and for that matter, whoever else is running a Mafia splinter group now. You don't have to join me, and I will not expose your identities to Falwell if that's your choice. But if you choose to rat _me_ out….well, first of all, that would be stupid, considering I haven't done anything. But if you try, I will bring _your_ heads not to Falwell, but the Lawndale Police Department. I have no doubt that the families of the students you have harassed would be more than happy to sue you to within an inch of your lives. So. Who wants to be part of this little camaraderie, eh?"

He scanned the room. Nobody raised their hands, apart from a tentative middle-schooler, who shrunk and put down his hand after receiving a glare from one of his comrades.

"Not that it's a bad offer," said Greg, "but frankly, we don't want to be a part of anything that has to do with _you_. You're a prick. An insufferable prick, hate to break it to you. You threaten _us_for what we've done, with all the crap that _you've_ done? The constant put-downs, the passive-aggressiveness, insults, and more? It would surprise me if there was one person in this whole school who would be willing to spend more than a few seconds with you. The Black Hand says no. Please show yourself out."

His expression remained stoic, but within, Ethan fumed. He was not used to being rejected in such a manner. No, he was not used to being _defied_. He thought, _Perhaps I am not as imposing as I thought I was. Funny, I thought having a gigantic red check-mark on my face would make me appear even more intimidating. Well, perhaps an authoritative approach is too much. I'll take note of that._

Ethan straightened his tie. "Well, can't get them all. Thank you for your consideration." He walked out.

XXXX

Ethan came out of Ransom, a slight frowned pressed into his face. He walked over to the bench where Julian was sitting. "Didn't work out, huh?" Julian said.

"Very astute, Townes." Ethan slumped onto the bench next to Julian, who scooched an inch away. "No, it did not. I anticipated it wouldn't."

"Then I assume you're going to pull another one of those multiple possibilities you were talking about earlier out of your hat?"

"Exactly. That's where you'll come in."

"What?"

"Don't gawk, Townes. It doesn't suit you. I deliberately chose this group first because I knew they would be the least suitable to my plans, so if they refused to join me, it would be of little consequence. To that end, I lied to them about what the groups was all about. I was testing the waters, so to speak. I can infer, based on how I was just received, that most of the other splinter groups will refuse to join the Vipers, because I am, well, _unpopular._ Therefore, I want you to speak in my stead. You are not to bring up my name, imply my involvement, and above all else,_never_ mention the ASPS. The Vipers must seem like _your_ idea. You will be a sort of puppet...no. A figurehead. I will be in the shadows, operating unseen. Through you, I will give orders and distribute plans. Information. And I will make sure your efforts do not get in the way of your schoolwork. I don't expect you to manage the Vipers constantly for me.

"Now, I understand that this is probably the last thing you want to do-"

"You've got that right," said Julian. "Not only working under you, but I don't want any of these kids ratting _me_ out if something goes wrong-"

"Did anyone rat each other out in the Mafia?"

"Well...no."

"Then they won't here either. And on the off chance someone does, it should be easy enough to suppress them. From what I've seen and heard, you were all very good liars; I'm sure a decent smear campaign would be manageable. Now, I'll write you up a script and send it to you. Start rehearsing it as soon as possible, because I'd like you to approach the Dons by next week. This coming Friday, if possible. And there are those few people I'd like you to check up on in the meantime, as well. Until then, Townes." Ethan turned on his heel and walked back to Ransom.

When he was gone, Julian pursed his lips and thought, _I have to admit, I have no problem with his goals. And getting most of the Mafia back together would be nice, even if we don't call ourselves the Mafia anymore. But I still don't like the idea of being under this guy's thumb. What do I want? What do I really want?_

_For one thing, I want to see his plans spectacularly fail. To see them go up in flames and watch as that stupid, passive look finally gets wiped off his face. Or..._

_Or I get him out of the way and take over the Vipers for myself._

**Three Weeks Later**

As her vision began to darken, she reached into her right pants pocket where the battery was kept and pulled the cord. Immediately, she was blind again. Taking out the battery and gingerly placing it on the seat to her right, Michelle Smith withdrew another battery from her backpack and plugged it into the cord that led from her 'eye': a small digital camera tied to her head labeled WV. Within seconds, a pixelated view of the world returned to her. In the corner of her vision, she saw, "15 hours remaining." Deciding that she did not need to see at that very moment, she turned off the camera.

As nothingness enveloped her vision once again, Michelle's thoughts turned back to her friends. She was genuinely excited to see them after all this time, but was still nervous about how Karis would receive her. _But if she's still mad at me, who's at fault? I don't think I acted all that selfishly, and yeah, she has the right to be at least a little mad. But shouldn't she have let it go by now? _She nervously pulled at the collar of her t-shirt. _I hope so. _

"We're here, miss," said her cab driver as he pulled over to the curb. "Fielding Preparatory Academy."

_Deja vu. _She flicked a switch on her 'eye,' reactivating it. Sure enough, she was in the exact same spot where she had first arrived in, almost two years ago. "Thanks," she said courteously to the driver. She paid him, stepped out, retrieved her two duffel bags of luggage from the trunk, and started toward Blair to move in to her new room.

She had barely taken a few steps when she heard, "MICHELLE!"

"Wha-" she let out a cry of surprise as Wehrung appeared out of nowhere and practically tackled her for a hug.

"Squeeze!" he exclaimed as his embrace tightened.

Laughing, she gave him a pat on the back. "Glad to see ya too. Ow. Watch the ribs."

He stepped back, and she got a full look at him. "Liking the goatee," said Michelle. She pointed at his eye. "And I hear you got that fixed up?"

Nodding, he briefly flipped up the patch, revealing the light-brown eye. "I'll never see as good out of it again, but hey, it's better than nothing." He let the patch snap loudly back into place. "Ow." He winced. "Well, I'm still wearing this because I'm used to it. Hey, cool new hair color." He nodded at her dyed-black locks.

"Thanks! Hey, Gage around?"

"Oh, uh, no. He had to go and get a refill of his anti-freakout meds. Driving there himself, I think. Hey, you need help with your bags?"

Smirking, she said, "Sure!" before tossing them both to him. Wehrung yelped as he caught them both. Their weight immediately began to put a strain on him. Knees buckling, he groaned, "Um, I guess I can take...whew, thanks." Michelle relieved him of one bag.

As they walked to Blair, Wehrung asked, "So, how was Perkins?"

"Great! It was nice to be back in the company of other visually-impaired people. You know, more people I can relate with. I didn't use the eye very much, though. I felt more than a little privileged using it, so I stuck with the new cane."

"New?"

"Yeah, I got rid of the old one. I wanted a clean break from Fielding, threw it out. I did take the new one with me, though. It's also collapsible, but it's plastic. Not aluminum."

"Gotcha. So, you excited to be back?"

She shrugged. "Give me a week, and I'll have an answer for you. I've heard the school's gotten safer at the cost of personal privacy."

"Yeah," he admitted, "it has gotten a little more oppressive. Searches, curfew hours, metal detectors-"

"Pff, that's only a little?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Hasn't bothered me, personally. Oh, by the way, I saw Karis and Roan about half an hour ago. I told Karis you would be here soon."

Michelle's heart skipped a beat. "How'd she react?" she asked quickly.

"Well, she smiled, said she'd be glad to see you."

"Oh."

Detecting the disappointment in her voice, he said, "You know, considering what it was like when you two saw each other last, I'd say that's pretty good."

Even though she had hoped for a warmer reaction, Michelle accepted his words, knowing that it was impossible for everything to turn out exactly as she envisioned. Taking a deep breath, she thought to herself, _Remember, look on the bright side_. Smiling, she said, "Well, let's go see her then. We can drop off my stuff on the way there, too."

"Really? Huh. All righty. Lead the way, oh great Smith."

_Lead the way,_ she thought with a smile. _I could get used to that. _

XXXX

Roan looked at herself in the mirror. "You know, I don't say this particularly often, but wow. I look good."

A flattered Karis, who had chosen Roan's outfit (a maroon blazer, a matte-black button-up shirt and matching pants), smiled with pride. "You'll knock 'em dead at your speech today."

"Well, I think I'll have to make an impression with words as opposed to what I'm wearing, but thanks, Chap." Roan ruffled her friend's red hair, resulting in a giggle. The senior stepped away to button up her collar.

"Well, Roan, I gotta say I'm kinda surprised you're really going for this, now," Karis admitted. "I mean, because, I kinda always thought you got your way through intimidation at knife-point."

"Please don't remind me of that," Roan pleaded, wincing. "I _do_ regret that, you know."

Karis shrunk. "Sorry."

"It's all right," said Roan. "But yeah, I want to start changing things through rational means." For a while now, Roan had felt like she had to make a change to Fielding; that if it weren't for her threatening Karis, the chain of events that led to Falwell's takeover of the school would not have occurred. "Besides," she said, smirking ironically, "I don't think the other kid I'm running against would take too kindly to having the tip of a blade pointed in his face."  
>She cracked her neck and turned to Karis. "How do I look?"<p>

Karis tapped at her chin as she pondered. "Hm...undo the last button. You look rather stuck-up with that thing around your throat."

Roan did so. "All right," she said as she confidently cracked her knuckles. "Ready to make my speech. Wish me luck, okay?"

"I will. See ya."

Roan opened the door, only to be met by Michelle Smith's knuckles. "Oh!" went Michelle, quickly withdrawing her hand, waving it awkwardly. "Hey, Roan." It was the first time the two had seen each other since Roan had been hospitalized, although they had talked over the phone whenever Michelle wanted to know how Karis was doing. Roan meekly waved back.

At the sound of her friend's voice, Karis looked up with wide eyes. "Michelle?"

Meekly, Michelle leaned to the left of Roan. "H-hi, Karis."

The red-haired girl stood up and walked up to her. Roan moved to the side. Karis looked up at her with an intense frown on her face. For a moment, Michelle thought she was still angry, until the small red-head said pluckily, "You look different. You get a haircut or something?"

It wasn't a particularly funny joke, but it was enough; Michelle let out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, I had it dyed. What do you think?"

"I think that I'm going to be the only one around here with a hair color other than black." She looked at Roan, with her platinum-blonde pixie cut. "Apart from you, mate."

Roan smiled slightly. She turned to Michelle and Wehrung, who stood a full six feet away down the hall. "I'd be happy to catch up with you both, but I can't right now. I need to go and make my speech for Student Council President at the auditorium."

"Oh! You're running for SCP? Congratulations!" Michelle said. "Who are you running against?"

"Damien Pullwitz."

Wehrung snorted. "Damien? Well, good for him, but nobody is going to vote for a pasty little dude with glasses the size of Jupiter. I mean, don't get me wrong; he's a smart guy, but I don't have that much faith in everyone to vote for him."

"You haven't heard him make a speech," Roan said. "He's an excellent orator, and a pretty good demagogue."

"You got an angle, then?" Michelle asked.

Roan checked her watch again and grimaced. "Well, I can tell you if you follow me." She headed down the hall toward the stairs, with Michelle, Karis, and Wehrung all in close pursuit. Roan continued, "I'm going to talk about how I'll reduce some of Falwell's new security measures."

"You can do that?" Wehrung asked, incredulous, as though he had just found out she could turn water into wine.

"I'm sure as hell going to try," Roan said with determination. "I know that some people are fine with all the changes that Falwell has brought, but I'm not. I think it's a violation of our rights to privacy. I mean, come on. Metal detector searches. What am I going to do, bring in a bomb? I can't see that happening at Fielding."

"Heh, _I_ can," Wehrung said dryly, recalling the time he had sent an exploding cake to the Tops.

"Well, I'm sorry if you think that way, Alex," Roan said. "But Fielding is not _that_ unsafe. Besides, the police force we had while Michaelas was still here did their job well enough; we don't need all the additional security. From what I hear, even Lawndale High hasn't gone this far, and that's just sad. For us, not for them. Anyway, this crap needs to be fixed, and _I_ want to fix it."

A little while later, they had reached the auditorium, which was filling up rapidly. Damien was already on stage. With his large glasses, tweed jacket, unkempt hair, and bow tie, he looked like a stereotype of the typical geek. Wehrung snickered. "Roan, you've already won."

Michelle turned to him and flicked him between the eyes. "Ow!" he exclaimed.

"Don't be an ass. Good luck, Roan!" she said with a smile.

"Yeah, knock 'em dead!" Karis enthused. She held up her hand for a high-five, and Roan obliged her.

"Thanks, guys! I'll give it my all."

XXXX

Damien had made his speech clearly and concisely, without ever taking a shot at Roan. He talked mostly about raising the school's funding for tutoring programs, recreational programs, and sports. Roan felt that these were reasonable, but probably unattainable goals. _Crap, what does that say about my goals then? Are they unattainable too? God, I hope not. I'm going to try regardless._

When it came to be her turn to speak, Roan took a few calming breaths, cleared her throat, and spoke with as confident, but friendly, a tone as possible. "Hey guys. We all know some of these changes have been…" Roan looked to the left and eyed one of the campus police officers. She knew all of them reported directly back to Falwell. _How ridiculous is it that I have to be afraid of speaking my mind? Still, I have to be careful if I want to make change. _Licking her lips, she chose her words carefully. "They've been a little unsavory, but we can still work with what we have to make the Fielding experience as great as it always has been." _And now I've devolved to bullshitting. Great._ "And we can continue to build on to that experience. For instance-"

"Excuse me!" a voice called from the crowd. "I apologize for interrupting, Ms. Breckenridge, but-"

"Apology not accepted," Roan cut in, very much annoyed. "You can ask me questions after this is over, whoever you are." She winced when she realized she'd left this person an opening to continue talking.

Sure enough, he did. "Ethan Dressler," the voice responded.

Karis, Wehrung, and Michelle all shot up out of their seats at the same time.

Roan was also surprised, and evidently, so was over half of the auditorium. Hundreds of students began to whisper amongst themselves. Ethan had gained a reputation for being an imposing, spoiled, and near-genius student. And the news of his apparent demise by car in California had become well-circulated news via The Boarder. If he was back, it was going to be bad news for at least _somebody. _

A thought flashed through Roan's mind. _Is he the one who's_….her attention turned back to the auditorium. "All right, that's enough," she said sternly. The auditorium continued to buzz excitedly.

"My fellow students!" cried Damien into the microphone. "Please turn your eyes and ears back to Ms. Breckenridge."

Roan nodded to him thankfully, and spoke back into the microphone. "It's good to hear that you've recovered, Ethan. But anyways, back to the security measures. And no more interruptions, please…."

XXXX

As soon as the speech was over, Karis exclaimed, "Where is he?"

"I don't see him!" Wehrung shouted loudly, in order to be heard over the din of the students rapidly filing out of the auditorium.

"Of course you can't! You're wearing an eye-patch!" Karis reminded him.

"Good point!" He flipped it up.

"Tall, unshaven, black suit, messy hair, yellow eyes! How hard can that be, you guys?!" exclaimed Michelle.

"We're all visually impaired! It's pretty bloody hard!" said Karis.

As they all frantically looked around the auditorium, Wehrung managed to spy an interesting sight. "Guys," he said, pointing at the right side of the stage. "Look at that."

They looked. Roan was at her podium, arms crossed over her chest, angrily arguing with a student over a head taller than her. He was bald and wearing the Fielding uniform. And his face was almost completely devoid of emotion, apart from an occasional smirk.

"Is that…"

They watched for another half a minute as he argued with Roan. Suddenly, Roan smiled before pointing at the three of them. The tall student looked where she was pointing, and Michelle gasped when she saw the bright red scar on his face. Ethan looked equally surprised. The four of them exchanged looks for a long moment, before Ethan bowed his head and walked off-stage.

It took the three a few moments to get over their shock. "Was that really...yeesh," Wehrung murmured. "He looked horrible."

"Should we go after him?" Karis said.

"I don't know," Wehrung said. "Didn't look like he particularly wanted to talk to us."

"I can't believe it," Michelle muttered. "This shouldn't be possible. He was in a coma. Elizabeth told Gage as much, said he was a vegetable. When did he come out of it? And why didn't he bother to at least give us a call?"

As they further discussed the re-appearance of the former leader, Roan jumped off the stage and headed over to them. Karis waved and said uncertainly, "Um, nice speech?"

"Thanks," Roan said dryly. "Would have been better if your friend hadn't interrupted."

"So that _was_ Ethan?" Wehrung asked.

"Yeah. It was."

"Holy flipping crap," whispered Michelle to herself. "How's that...you can't just come back from being a vegetable."

"What were you two talking about, Roan?" Karis asked.

She replied, "He asked me to join a group he's forming. The Vipers. _He's_ the one who has been putting portions of the Mafia back together. He didn't tell me what he planned to do with this group, though."

"So he goes to you first to join his new little club, but not us?" Wehrung asked, feeling more than a little offended. "First that, then he practically runs away when he sees us? The hell is his problem?"

"Well, he got hit by a car. I imagine he must be going through some kind of trauma," Michelle pointed out, "but I agree, it's weird that he hasn't talked to us yet. Did he happen to mention where he's living, Roan? Is he back at Warville?"

"No, he didn't say."

"Maybe we should just leave him alone," said Karis. When all eyes turned on her, she shrugged meekly. "Well, maybe he just needs space? If he does want to talk to us, let him."

"No."

Michelle had said it firmly and definitively. "If this were a year ago, I would have gladly let him be. But he was in a bad accident, he came out of it, never bothered to call us, and now he's forming another secret society? No."

As she stalked off towards the exit, she turned back and saw that Wehrung, Karis, and Roan were all giving her confused looks. "What are you all looking at me like that for? Come on!

"We're gonna get some damn answers."

-With thanks to Kristen Bealer for beta-reading, and to Roentgen for some killer dialogue.


	2. The Vampire's Confession

_Elizabeth Dressler walked loudly into her brother's hospital room. Ethan was propped up in his bed with pillows, breathing softly. Bandages swathed his bald head, and tubes fed into his nose and mouth, which hung slack, and a steady stream of drool dripped out onto his bedsheets. Beside him, a machine that monitored brain activity made no noise, but his heart monitor beeped steadily._

_She pulled up a chair next to him and sat down in it, and stared hard at her brother's face. "I know you're faking it," she said.  
>Ethan remained limp.<em>

_"Ah-ah, don't think you can fool me," she said in a tone a mother might give to a misbehaving toddler. "I know you re-programmed the machine last week; I noticed the clear spots left by your fingers among the dust. I thought I was imagining it for a bit. Then I realized that this is exactly something you would pull."_

_Ethan still made no indication that he could hear her._

_Scooting her chair closer to him, Elizabeth said, "You have ten seconds to quit it before I start tickling you."_

_Still nothing._

_Desperately hoping that she was right, Elizabeth said, "Suit yourself," and reached out her hand towards Ethan's neck, wiggling her fingers. Closer, closer…  
>Ethan's hand darted up and roughly slapped hers away. She never felt so happy and relieved. His eyes opened. He turned his head to his sister and glared. "Damn you," he croaked, before descending into a fit of labored coughing.<em>

_"Brother!" Elizabeth exclaimed happily._

_"ShhhhACK!" His hush was interrupted by her sudden hug. "Ow," he grunted._

_"Sorry." When she pulled away, her smile had faded. "Hold on. How long have you been pretending?"_

_He merely held up two fingers. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "I figured out my situation quick enough. Going from about to being hit by a car to lying in a dark room is a pretty jarring transition, I must say. The brain monitor over here started beeping like mad; luckily nobody heard, and I've always had excellent night vision. I reprogrammed it, which considering my current state was a feat of Olympic proportions, and went back to bed. I've been using this time to rest and contemplate."_

_"Contemplate what?"_

_"Nothing particularly interesting," he said. "My actions that have led to this point. The things I've done to myself and others. And I've also thought of an essay I'd like to write about the electrical activity in the brain as it makes decisions." Ethan had, however, come up with a plan that involved more than one revenge plot against certain individuals at Fielding. He kept that to himself._

_"Mm," went Elizabeth. "So," she said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere with small-talk, "come to any epiphanies?"_

_Ethan nodded. "I want to go back to Fielding, find my friends and tell them….sorry, I guess."_

_Elizabeth's tone suddenly turned harsh. "And what about me?" she asked, an angry scowl on her face. "Don't I get an apology for having to worry about you for so long? Doesn't Edric? Mom and Dad? Dylan?"_

_He became tense at the mention of the last name. Ethan tried to rise from his bed, but fell back, sweating. "Do not…." his body racked with another stream of wet coughs. He gave up trying to be angry and sank back into his cushions. "Forget it," he croaked. "I just need more rest. And more time to think." He looked at his sister; two pairs of bright yellow eyes locked. He pointed a shaky finger at her. "Do not tell mom, dad, Edric, Dylan, or any of the ASPS," he ordered her. "If you do….I'll do something bad, not sure what yet. I just need to be alone."_

_"You always need to be alone. I guess your contemplations haven't made you any more social, eh?"_

_"You'd be right, Liz." He sighed and took a gentler tone. "Look, I promise I will tell everyone eventually. I just need to regain my strength first."_

_"And how will I know you're ready to spread your wings and fly, little sparrow?" She smirked as Ethan gave her the bird._

_"You'll know, I assure you. Don't worry about me, Liz. I'll be fine." He reached out his hand, which she took and squeezed lightly. She smiled, and so did he, but only briefly. He closed his eyes. "Now piss off and let me rest."_

_"Yes, grandpa," she said sarcastically. "Boy, are you lucky you don't snore."_

_"I know it," he whispered. He almost instantly fell back asleep. _

XXXX

Even though the speeches were over, a large crowd of students lingered outside the auditorium. At six-foot two, Michelle easily could have seen over them, but with vision that was, in a manner of speaking, rather crude in construct, it was difficult to determine where Ethan was. "Anyone else see him?" she asked.

Wehrung and Karis squinted, searching the crowd. "Hey!" Wehrung exclaimed in surprise.

"Do you see him?" Michelle asked.

"No. I just noticed that Roan bailed on us."

Indeed, she had. "Well, where'd she go?" Michelle said.

"No clue," said Wehrung.

"I see him!" Karis said excitedly. She pointed a small finger towards the back of the crowd. "And he's looking at us!"

The other two looked at where she was pointing, and saw that, indeed, Ethan was staring right back at them. His eyes momentarily bugged out of his head before he began to briskly jog away towards the Craig building.

"You gotta be kidding," Michelle groaned. "After him!"

The three ASPS immediately took off after him, although Karis quickly began to pant from the strain of running. She was never particularly athletic and it showed. Wehrung biked for exercise, which gave him considerably more endurance, but Ethan was so far ahead that he too began to feel weary. Michelle, however, was very and fit and was quickly gaining on Ethan, who was even more sedentary than Karis.

He led them up to the Craig building, running alongside it. Ethan suddenly raised his fist into the air and waved it around in a circular motion, before he turned the corner and ran behind the building. _Was that a signal?_ Michelle wondered.

As it turned out, it was. As soon as she turned the same corner, Michelle was faced with two beefy-looking senior boys who immediately blocked her way. "Move it!" she shouted at them.

"Nope!" one of them said with a self-important smirk on his face. "You stay put."

Michelle felt tempted to knee one of them in the groin, but knew that would just create unnecessary trouble. She leaned to the right of them, and before they leaned to block her view, she momentarily saw Ethan walk leisurely away, his back turned to her. Feeling frustrated, Michelle glared at the two and said, "What are you, his lackeys?"

"We are Vipers," one of them answered. "And we don't answer to ASPS. So beat it."

Michelle was taken aback momentarily, before recalling Roan's words: _He's the one putting the Mafia back together._ She thought, _Well, hopefully these goons remember my foot on Dmitri Vagin's chest._ Michelle took a step towards them, her best threatening expression on her face, fists curled. In a deadly tone, she ordered, "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

For an instant, the two looked weary, but one of them laughed. "Nice try, Smith. Sorry, still ain't budging. Our boss gave us clear orders: you don't get to see him. So, once again, beat it. Before I make you."

Wehrung appeared, panting. "I...will...kill...ulp!" he noticed the two Vipers and paled. "Uh…..hi?"

"Last warning, ASPS. Go."

Michelle knew that she couldn't take on both of them, and that, for now, Ethan wasn't worth it anyhow. She turned to Wehrung. "Come on." She walked off back the way they had run, and he followed.

"Who...the...hell...were...they?" he asked.

"Ethan's new henchmen."

"He….he has freaking henchmen now?" Wehrung looked annoyed, then concerned. "Do you think he's gonna send them after us?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. I'd tend to doubt it. Let's just leave him alone; it looks like a reunion is going to be more trouble than it's worth."

As they walked back, they came across Karis, who was flat on her back in the grass, huffing. "I think," she panted, "I'll just lie here and die for now."

XXXX

_Ethan had kept his word. A month later, and seven months after his accident, Elizabeth was eating dinner with her parents when Xander Dressler suddenly received a call from his work phone. "Can this wait?" he said without waiting for whoever was on the other line to introduce themselves. "I'm having dinner with my family."_

_"And you didn't invite me?" said a flat voice on the other line._

_Xander dropped his fork and shot to his feet._

_"Honey, what is it?" asked a worried Alix Dressler._

_"Ethan?!" exclaimed Xander. His wife and daughter immediately sprang out of their seats as well with wide eyes._

_"Is he okay?!" cried Alix._

_"Tell mom I'm fine," Ethan said on the other line. He stood in a hospital hallway, wearing a loose gown. He had removed the bandages that had wrapped around his head, revealing a massive, ugly red scar that arched over his bare cranium. He continued, "I just woke up."_

_"Who is it?" pried Alix._

_"He says he's Ethan," Xander explained._

_His wife's face paled. "He was brain-dead," she said in a hushed, amazed tone._

_"I know," Xander said. To make sure that this was in fact his son, he said, "Name your grandparents. The Dresslers and the Armistads."_

_"Father, I'm hurt," said Ethan, even though he felt more impatient than offended. "Your own son has returned from death's door and-"_

_"Just answer the goddamn question!" Xander roared._

_"Ow." Ethan reflexively pulled the receiver away from his ear. "Well, you didn't actually ask me a question, but if you insist. Rorschach. Deryn. Josiah. Kristin."_

_"And name your girlfriend."_

_The skin under Ethan's eye twitched. "Dylan."_

_Xander felt both dumbfounded and elated. "It's him," he breathed excitedly to his family. Alix clapped her hands excitedly and let out a relieved and joyed sob, while Elizabeth smiled happily. "Someone call Edric," said Xander. Noticing his wife's intense relief, he turned to his daughter. "Liz?" She nodded and scurried off to call her oldest brother._

_"Son, is there anything you need?"_

_"Yes," Ethan said without hesitation. _

XXXX

A little while after the school day ended, Michelle and Karis made their way to meet Gage, whom had been told of Ethan's return an hour earlier. The sky was dark by the time they arrived, so they were only happy to have dinner with Michael, Gage, and Wehrung inside the bright and warm, yet slightly decaying building that was Harris Studios.

As the table was being laid and Michael Harris was finishing cooking his batch of chili, Gage, who had been looking blue ever since they arrived, spoke up in a somber tone. "So. How's being back at Fielding going for you so far, Michelle? Besides what happened earlier today."

She gave him a questioning look, and he stared mournfully back at her. "Um…..it was fine," she said as she removed her 'eye,' carefully placing it under her chair. She rubbed the right side of her face, where a large red mark had been left from wearing the 'eye' for so long. "Being a week late for classes is never a good thing, but I think I'll manage. Fielding seems a lot quieter. Guess we have Falwell to thank for that."

"It's been serene," Karis added with a smile. "No screaming, no bullying out in the open. I've heard rumours that Bitchmas won't even happen this year!"

"Bitch-what?" said Michael Harris, looking very much confused. Karis's face quickly flushed with embarrassment.

"Annual event when guys go and harass girls," Wehrung explained.

"Ah." Michael shot a frown Gage's way. "You've never told me about that, my boy." Gage shrugged, gazing down at the floor. His adoptive grandfather took notice and asked, "You all right?"

"Yeah," said Wehrung. "You've been looking depressed all day."

Gage waved them off, still staring at the ground. "I'm okay. Just thinking."

"About what?" asked Karis.

"Stuff."

"What kinda stuff?" Wehrung perseverated.

"Alex," said Michelle. The eye-patch-wearing teen shriveled at the sound of his first name. The look she gave him clearly said, _That's your cue to leave him alone._

He gave her a confused glance, before shrugging. "Okay. Never mind then." But he had been noticing lately that Gage had become increasingly more distant and anxious. He never mentioned any trouble at school, had been taking his medication, and seemed perfectly content helping his adoptive grandfather run the business. _So why's he so glum?_ Wehrung had a theory, but he decided it was best to ask Gage about it later.

XXXX

_Only thirty minutes after Ethan's call, the Dressler family was in his hospital room, while its longest occupant hungrily eyed his suit, sitting on a rack in corner of the room. "I forgot to say," Ethan said from the chair where he sat. "I got a call from Edric. He said he's going to be flying out tonight."_

_"That's great!" Alix smiled. "Everyone will be together again."_

_Ethan looked at his father. "So, father. When do you think I can get out of here?"_

_"Sorry son, not for a while," Xander said. Ethan's face immediately fell. "I need to run some tests on you, make sure you're all right. For a while there, you were most certainly a vegetable. I need to make sure you're cognitively healthy, check for possible after-effects of your coma. I don't want to let you back into the world, not knowing what could happen to you. You understand?"_

_Ethan was tempted to tell his father he'd been conscious for over a month now, and that he had felt perfectly fine. But he did not want to earn the wrath of his parents, and decided to keep silent. "When can I get back to school?"_

_"We can hire you a private tutor until then, Ethan," said his mother. "Keep you sharp, so when you get back to high school you can continue dominating."_

_Ethan bit his lip. "Yes, well, here's the thing. I want to go back to Fielding."_

_His parents exchanged concerned looks. "Are you sure?" Alix asked. "You probably won't get your room in Warville back. And-"_

_"Mother, let me just say this. I hate Saratoga High School. I mean, sure, it's probably superior to most other public schools, but compared to Fielding….I feel like I'm in classes with toddlers. I am not getting challenged at all. And…" he tried not to show emotion, but he looked slightly pleading when he said to his mother, "I miss my friends."_

_Alix Dressler felt herself tearing up; she had never before heard her son say he had friends. Sniffling, and without saying anything, she went over to her son and hugged him._

_"Um…" He patted her back. "There there?" He looked up at his father. "You all right with that?"_

_"I have no problem with it, for the most part. We sent you there before, we can do it again. I just want to make absolutely sure you're healthy."_

_Before Ethan could protest, he froze when his mother unattached herself from him and smiled. The two exchanged a long look, and something in her expression made Ethan resign himself to his fate. He gave a conciliatory sigh and said, "All right, Dr. Dressler. But one thing. Do I have to keep my head shaved?"_

_"Afraid so," said Xander. "Gotta keep that scar under check. Why, you not liking how it looks?"_

_"No," Ethan said. He rubbed it sheepishly. "It's cold up here."_

XXXX

After they had finished their dinner, Wehrung and Gage retreated into their room to do their homework. Gage had completed his within twenty minutes, while it took Wehrung a further two hours, due to the considerable difficulty of Fielding-given homework, and the fact that he often wandered over to the computer the two shared to look at things on the internet.

When he eventually completed his work, Wehrung changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, turned out the lights, and climbed into bed. After around ten minutes of tossing and turning, he whispered, "Gage? You 'wake?"

"Mm."

"So, you okay?"

"Yeah," Gage grumbled brusquely.

"C'mon man, what's wrong? You can tell me."

Gage considered. "Fine. It's not like you can provide me a solution here. Daria and Jane are fighting again."

"Over you?"

"Well-"

"I thought they'd gotten that all squared away," said Wehrung.

"Well, they haven't. Daria is still mad at me, and now Jane is mad at _her_ for being mad at _me_! She wants Daria to be mad at _her_ instead. And she's mad at me for not taking a side!" Gage said in exasperation.

Wehrung frowned. "Jane or Daria?"

"Jane!"

"Yeesh, there's no need to yell."

Gage let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, you have no idea, dude. Daria wants to leave Lawndale High now!"

"Huh?"

"Yeah! She says now that she and Jane barely spend any time together anymore, she has no reason for staying at Lawndale High, and that she's going to transfer. Jane told me."

"Then where is she going? Fielding?"

"Maybe, I don't know. God, this makes me wish that I _was_ gay like everyone says."

"Or bi. I bet it's pretty nice to have twice the options. Michelle always seemed to roll with it. But anyway, so Daria wants to leave public high school, okay, pretty strange. But it doesn't sound like Jane doesn't have any reason to break up with you, though."

"She's kicking herself over this," said Gage. "She wants to stay with me, but she doesn't want Daria to go. She's mad at Daria because she feels like Daria's forcing her to make a decision she doesn't want to make, and like I said, she's angry with me because I haven't told her to stay with me, Daria be darned."  
>Wehrung snickered. "Darned?"<p>

"Whatever. Jeez, Wehrung. This whole thing is killing me. I mean, I don't want to affect Jane's decision, because lord knows that's a really bad idea, but I don't want to lose my girlfriend. What do you think I should do?"

He shrugged. "Suggest a ménage à trois?"

"Hardee har har. Not helping."

"You've come to the wrong guy, man. One aborted date is the extent of my experience."

"Oh yeah, Joan. Whatever happened there?"

"Nuh uh, _you're_ the one with the girl trouble here, not me. If I were you, I'd go to someone else with more experience. Or stick Daria and Jane in a room together and have them fight to the death over you."

"They're not fighting _over_ me, dude. They just have an issue to work out."

"An issue over you."

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Gage muttered, "If that makes you happy, sure. It's all about me."

"It doesn't make me happy. It just makes it funnier."

Gage turned over. "Whatever, dude. Screw you. Good night."

"Gage-"

"Good night." He started snoring.

"You're so faking that!" Wehrung said with exasperation. When Gage didn't reply, he gave up and resigned himself to sleep as well.

XXXX

_Looking at his scar in Elizabeth's makeup-mirror, Ethan reached at his forehead and rubbed at it. "Ow," he winced. The check-shaped mark seemed to pulsate angrily at his touch._

_"Look on the bright side, baby bro!" chirped Edric Dressler, who stood only at five-foot-eight, making his pet name for Ethan all the more ironic. "Chicks love scars. Speaking of that, have you given Dylan a call yet?"_

_Ethan exhaled loudly through his nose. "No."_

_"No? Why not?"_

_"Because I broke up with her right before I got hit."_

_"You did? Oh, how the heavens must have cracked!"_

_"Shut up."_

_"Never! So, how come?"_

_Ethan licked his lips. "...I'm not sure. I thought I did it because I thought she deserved someone better than me, maybe."_

_"Or did you just want to be preemptive?" suggested Edric._

_Ethan gave his brother a hard frown. "Pardon?"_

_"Well, you told me how pissed she was at you after that whole thing in ABQ, which, by the way, I haven't told anyone, in case you were worried."_

_"With your secret-keeping record? I regretted confiding in you almost immediately."_

_"Yeah, well, anyway, I was practically waiting for her to call you and give you the notice. I mean, yeah, the whole thing where you conned dad into paying for her treatment was cute and all, but c'mon! You dragged her back from her vacation, got all the way up in beeswax you had no point sticking your little nose into, and didn't apologize to top it all off! Frankly, I'm shocked you ended it first. Well, not really. You always were a bona-fide prick, little brother. It's what you do so well."_

_Snarling, Ethan hissed, "Why, thank you, Edric. That makes me feel much better."_

_"Hey, I don't mean no disrespect, little brother. I admire you for your consistency."_

_"You 'don't mean no'?" Ethan sniveled, repulsed at Edric's grammar. "My theory of you being adopted grows stronger every day, brother. Are you sure you're not wearing yellow-tinted contact lenses?"_

_Edric ignored that, and made an attempt to reach out to Ethan: "It's not too late for you to make amends, ya know. Elizabeth did tell her about what happened to you, and from what I hear, Dylan got pretty upset. You could come up with something about having seen the light, and try get back into her good graces."_

_He thought about it. _I do miss her. I miss talking to her. _Dylan had been the first person he ever felt that he could truly confide in; she was interested in, and cared about, what he had thought, and he had done the same for her._ But the way she looked at me on that day in Albuquerque….Ethan sighed sadly. _I deserved that. I did something stupid. She deserves better. _

_It almost killed him to say it, yet he told his brother, "Dylan and I are through, and that's that, end of story. It's not like you know what it's like, brother."_

_Edric frowned. "Whatcha mean?"_

_Ethan let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, come on. You may not make it explicit, but if you were any gayer your urine would produce rainbows."_

_His brother's expression changed from shock, to fear, to hurt. Then Edric's face broke out into a grin and he threw back his head and laughed. "Hahahaha! Hoo boy, yeah, you're right. But guess what, little brother? I know stuff too."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Like the fact that you were actually awake much longer than you said."_

_"What?" Ethan bolted upright. Fury awoke within him. "Did Elizabeth tell you?"_

_More laughter. "Nope!" Edric pointed at him. "You just did."_

Damn it. _He sank back into his blankets. "Well, good job for tricking me brother. I suppose you're going to tell mom and dad, now?"_

_"Gimme some credit, baby brother! I'll only tell if and only if...you ready for this?" His jovial tone instantly became serious; pleading, even. "When you go back to Fielding, apologize to your buddies. Do some volunteer work. Apply for scholarships. Do not go back to that stupid club of yours."_

_Ethan rolled his eyes. "Suppose I choose to ignore your advice, brother? What will mom and dad do? Pull me out of school for taking an extended nap?"_

_Sighing heavily, Edric, feeling frustrated at his brother's stubbornness, picked up his coat from a nearby rack and made his way towards the door. "Just don't get into any trouble, Ethan. Please. It'll kill mom and dad. They do care, you know."_

_"Whatever. Just leave me alone, Edric." His brother didn't budge. "Please," Ethan said as though it caused him pain to say the word._

_"Fine." As his older brother took his leave, he turned to Ethan one more time and said, "Don't screw this up, baby brother."_

_Ethan waved dismissively at him, and breathed a sigh of relief when Edric was finally gone._

XXXX

"I was warned about you," Roan said to Ethan as the crowd of students buzzed behind them.

_Julian,_ he'd thought, hurt at this betrayal. _Why, Julian? Just when I thought I could trust you…_

"I am not coming back to the Mafia, and that's final."

Ethan tried to give her a warm smile, but it came out looking rather ominous. "That's not our name anymore, but regardless. Are you're sure there's nothing I can do to convince you?"

Returning with a smile of her own, as if she had just heard some kind of clever joke, Roan said, "No. You can try convincing _them_, though." She pointed a finger at the rapidly-diminishing audience.

Them? Ethan looked where she was pointing and saw them. They looked different, but there was no mistaking them. Wehrung, Michelle, and Karis were all staring back at him, surprised expressions on her faces. Ethan felt panic well up in his chest. _No. Not yet. I can't. Not yet._ Trying his best to maintain his composure, Ethan turned on his heel and walked off-stage. He swore he could feel Roan's smug grin following him.

The moment Ethan was outside, he found the two Vipers he'd assigned to come to the speeches. "Dean, Ben. Go to the back side of the Chegg building. I have a feeling I am about to be followed."

"Yessir, bossman." The two jogged off.

Ethan made pushed and slithered his way through the crowd, noticing the way the other students were staring at his scarred faces. At one point, he would have sneered, maybe even hissed at them to get them to avert their beady little eyes, but he no longer cared. Quickly glancing back, he saw the ASPS looking right at him. Immediately, Ethan headed toward Chegg, jogging steadily. He was panting in moments. _What I wouldn't give to at least have the slightest bit of motivation to at least touch a treadmill._

A minute later, he was behind the Chegg building, and slowed down to a brisk walk as he passed Ben and Dean. As he walked away, he looked behind him one more time, and saw Michelle Smith leaning past Ben to look at him. Immediately, he looked away and headed back to his dorm. He would meet them again on his own time, when he felt ready. Whenever that was.

Xander and Alix Dressler had agreed to pay for Ethan to live in a single in Georgia-Black; he was no longer eligible to live in Warville, as his old room had been taken by another student researching the recently-discovered the venomous Argentinian tree-frog. He was not fond with the level of noise that came with living in a dormitory with more than nine boys, but he reluctantly learned to get used to it.

There was a benefit living there though, at least he thought. Ethan believed that nobody would ever imagine an ordinary student was coming up with schemes that could change the entire way Fielding was run right in his own room. Hiding in plain sight is how he chose to think about his living situation.

As he continued to plot in his head, Ethan's thoughts turned back to the ASPS, and he wondered if he ought to try asking them to join the Vipers. _But I can't even work up the guts to talk to them, how can I expect to ask that of them? Besides, they probably don't operate anymore. As much as I'd love to work with them again, I will keep them out of it. _

He eyed his phone, and realized he had to make a call. _Oh Julian...whatever shall I do with you?_

XXXX

A month went by, and gradually, the reputation of the Vipers as some kind of shadowy anti-bullying organization grew, but what sent them apart from the Mafia was that they were more public, no longer acting in the shadows and helping any students they could see. However, most of the time they operated within the dorms, as that's where most bullying had been taking place. The massive police presence on the Fielding campus served as Carter Falwell's ever-watchful eye, and ear as well.

Word of a vigilante organization eventually spread to the administration, and it was rumoured that Falwell and the governors were discussing whether or not to start asking police officers to patrol the dormitories to catch both bullies and the Vipers.

When rumours such as these reached the ears of the students, none were as furious as Roan Breckenridge. She approached Michelle, Wehrung, and Karis as they were sitting outside during lunch one day and sat down across from them at their table with a dark frown on her face. "Your friend is making it very difficult for any positive changes to be made. Haven't you tried to talk to him?"

Wehrung shrugged indifferently. "My nose is clean; I have nothing to worry about. Let the fuzz go around the dorms."

"And you don't care about the rights of your classmates?" Roan asked.

He put a finger to his lips. "Hurm, let me think….ah, no."

"Fine," she said. "But what Ethan's doing is not right. If we want change, we do it without intimidating people, without all this vigilante crap."

Michelle cocked her head. "What Ethan's doing sounds a lot like what the Mafia used to do, Roan. They're just not as secretive about it."

"They've finally come out of the closet!" Wehrung snickered. A murderous gaze from Roan made him shrink where he sat like a whipped puppy.

"What the Mafia did was not really at all okay," Karis said. She turned to Wehrung and Michelle. "And same for the ASPS."

"You _did_ do a prank with us once," Wehrung reminded her. "You didn't seem to have all that many qualms back then. Besides, c'mon, the Tops always had it coming." Michelle shrugged as if to indicate she agreed, to a degree. Roan said nothing.

"Maybe. But we're not doing that anymore. We've grown out of it, right?" Karis said, looking at all of them. Michelle and Roan both nodded. Wehrung joined in their assent when Michelle made a loud "ahem!" sound. Wehrung gaped at her.

"You're not even wearing your eye right now!" he exclaimed. "How'd you do that?"

"I know you," she said with a smirk. Her expression turned serious when she said, "So, Roan, what do you want us to do?"

"You're his friends. Ask him to stop."

"You're being awfully demanding here," Wehrung grumbled.

Roan exhaled sharply. "Fine. Could you do me a favor and ask him to stop whatever he's doing, please? Because seriously, if it's one thing I learned, it's that one person shouldn't be responsible for inducing change, especially like this. And I really, _really_ don't like the idea of cops patrolling down my hallway."

Karis gave her an odd look, and was about to say something to her when Wehrung piped up. "Well, we don't know where he lives. We can't just go to the main office and ask. I suppose I could hack into the school's computer mainframe and look up the info, but, heh, you're gonna love this, they actually instituted new cyber-security measures at the same time they got all the new cops. They really thought of everything. So, we only have one option: we have to break in and steal the files."

Karis blinked at him. "Or we could just ask people where the tall bald guy with the gigantic scar on his head lives."

"...that works too," Wehrung said, his face turning bright red.

"When we find out, we'll tell you, Roan," Michelle said. "And we can all talk to him. Sound good?"

She nodded, smiling thankfully. "Thanks. Sorry to put you through the trouble."

"It's no trouble," Michelle said, before bringing her watch up to within an inch to her eye. "Ah, my next class starts in a bit, I'm going to go over. Anyone want to come with?"

"I'll come," said Karis nervously. She wanted to get away from Roan for a while; the hypocrisy of something she had said earlier bothered her, and for now, she didn't know how to address it to her.

"Well, I'll guess I'll be seeing you guys all later then," Wehrung said, quickly picking up his backpack and walking off.

"See you later, Chap," Roan said affectionately to Karis before walking off as well.

It was a little while later when the two started to walk up the North Road that Karis realized something wasn't quite right. "I thought your….isn't your next class at Ransom Howard?"

"Yeah. In an hour."

"Oh. Um, all right. So where are we going?"

"Georgia-Black." Michelle put her 'eye' back on with a certain determination. "I'm going to talk to Ethan."

Karis started in surprise. "Wait, you know where he lives?"

"Uh huh. I called his sister the day after we saw that he was back, she told me."

"Oh. Huh," said Karis.

"Yup," said Michelle.

"Wait, why didn't you tell Roan?"

The corner of Michelle's mouth twitched. "Yeah, maybe I should have, I don't know. I mean, I do trust her now; she took pretty good care of you while I was in Maine. But I've known Ethan longer, and I wanted to talk to him first, one-on-one."

"Oh. So I can't come?"

"Do you _want_ to?"

Karis shivered. "Actually, no, he always did creep me out a bit."

"Okay then." Michelle cracked her knuckles and exhaled heavily. "Wish me luck."

XXXX

There was a knock at Ethan's door. "Who is it?"

"Federal Express," said a husky voice. "I have a package for Ethan Dressler from a Xander Dressler."

_Dad sent me something?_ His father _never_ sent him anything. Cautiously, Ethan stood up and slowly opened his door and peered through the crack. "Who is it real-"

A red-tipped cane shot through the crack and jabbed him in the stomach. Ethan cried out in shock and stumbled backwards into his chair and Michelle Smith pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. In one hand, she held her cane; in the other, she held the hulking battery for her 'eye.' It had been the first time they had seen each other in almost a year. Ethan sneered at her dyed-black hair.

Michelle spoke first. "Sorry about that. But first things first; I have questions. Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell us you were okay? We all thought you were as good as dead!"

"Because," Ethan groaned, rubbing his stomach, "I didn't think you'd care, after what happened in Albuquerque. I didn't want to find out."

"And is that why you left without saying goodbye, either?"

"Right on the money, Michelle."

"And of course we car...wait." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You just used my first name!"

"Oh good, your hearing is still working," he muttered. "OW!" Michelle had brought her cane down on his head, but not hard.

"Don't be a smartass," she said. "Why so friendly?"

He gave her a dirty look, as he now rubbed both his sore head and stomach. "I'm just trying to be nice. Don't kill me."

Michelle was glad that he finally seemed to be getting at least a little kinder, and would have tried to catch up with him, learn what had happened to him after his accident, but she had more questions about something else. "The Vipers," she said.

Flinching, knowing the jig was up, Ethan asked, "What about them?"

"What are you going to do with them?" She smirked humorlessly. "Start your own gay-rights movement?"

"No, I'm going to use them for my own nefarious purposes, of course" Ethan said sardonically. "And I'm afraid I can't tell you what that entails."

"C'mon, Ethan. Please."

"It's none of your business," he retorted sharply.

Michelle stared at him for a few moments, her face an indecipherable mask. Then she took her cane and pressed the tip gently onto one of his bare toes. Her tone had suddenly turned equally icy. "And. Why. Not?"

He looked from his toe to her and shrugged. "Because it's a secret, obviously. And that's all you need to GAAH!" She began to press the cane into the toenail of his big toe. Ethan's eyes flashed angrily and he snarled at her.

"I'm not a fan of nefariousness anymore, Ethan. I've grown out of it. I was hoping you had too. Tell me, now. What are you going to do with the Vipers?" She knew that if he just wanted to start another pranking organization, he would eventually tried to re-start the ASPS.

Breathing rapidly, hands clenched, trying to ignore the pain, Ethan said, "For starters, I'm going to have them throw you out. _Succurrite_!"

Michelle didn't need to know Latin to understand that that was a distress call. She removed the cane from his toe, flipper it upright into her hand and swung it around, but it was caught by one of the same boys that had blocked her earlier.

"Woah! You're right, boss! She has a mean swing!" Dean took Michelle's cane and blocked her hook, before Ben snuck up behind her and put her in an armlock. As Michelle struggled to break free, Dean asked, "You want us to put her in the bin?"

"No!" Ethan hissed sharply. "Turn her to face me." They did so. The two former ASPS gave each other stony glares that ended when Ethan sighed sadly. "Now do you see why I didn't want to reunite with the rest of you?"

"Don't you dare peg this on me, Dressler."

"I'm not, I'm not. Maybe some other time, Michelle, we can catch up as friends. But as the leader of the Vipers, I'm telling you to stay out of my way. Karis, Wehrung, Gage, and you have nothing to do with what I have planned. Just stay out of it." He nodded to his bodyguards. "Please escort her back to Blair. And for God's sake Ben, let go of her arms."

As Michelle was released from the arm-lock, she gave the bodyguards (both of whom were shorter yet much stronger than her) the finger before picking up her cane and leaving.

_Well, that escalated quickly, _she thought as she made her way back to Blair. _And maybe I overreacted. But I want to know what he's up to. It can't be anything good. _

When Michelle had returned to her dorm, an idea struck her. She took her phone and dialled a number. There were four rings. _C'mon, pick up!_

"Yello!" The voice on the other end answered. "Harris Studios, the premier Lawndale-"

"Wehrung, it's me."

"Oh, hey Michelle!" he said. "What's a-happenin'?"

"Listen. I just talked to Ethan."

"Wait, what? How the heck did you find out where he was?"

"I'll tell you later." She explained the nature of their encounter.

When she was done, he asked, "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Well...do you remember the Fourth Failsafe?"

There was a long pause over the other line. "Yeah."

"Do you still have that file?"

"I do," he confirmed.

Michelle breathed a sigh of relief.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"For now, nothing. But if Ethan does something dumb, which, who am I kidding, is inevitable, I just want some….insurance, so to speak.

"We won't let another snake bite us."

XXXX

_He had been staring out the window for half the plane ride, and staring at the keypad built into the back of the seat in front of him the other half, with both trepidation and anxiety. 505-478-4803. Ten simple digits. _Don't be such a coward, just call for the love of god, _Ethan thought to himself. But every time he reached out to dial, some invisible force caused him to quickly withdraw his hand, and he would immediately turn his thoughts to something else in desperation._

_As the plane began to land, and he failed to sum up the courage to call for the sixth time, Ethan gripped his hand tightly, angrily cursing himself. He attempted to distract himself over his regrets by thinking about his ultimate objective: Carter Falwell, the replacement for Henry Michaelas. _

Your tenure is over, old man.


End file.
